


Wherever I Go, You Bring Me Home.

by TheItsyBitsyWriter



Series: We Started, Just Two Hearts In One Home [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, James "Bucky" Barnes - Fandom, Steve Rogers - Fandom, Stucky - Fandom
Genre: 1940's Brooklyn, Afterlife, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Bearded Steve Rogers, Future Fic, Happy Ending, M/M, Mentioned Characters, Natasha Romanoff - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Share a Heaven, Soulmates, Steve and Bucky share a Heaven, Stucky - Freeform, Tags Are Hard, This is a Supernatural reference, also sad, and a little bit happy too?, basically a future-fic, bucky has both arms, but they deserve to live too, mentioned avengers - Freeform, our favorite brooklyn boys, so it's very angsty, that they deserve, the brooklyn daily eagle, tony stark - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-04-24 17:25:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19177984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheItsyBitsyWriter/pseuds/TheItsyBitsyWriter
Summary: 51 Weeks. 358 Days. 8592 Hours. 515520 Minutes.That's how long Steve Rogers lasted in a world where he knew Bucky Barnes was dead— for sure, this time. During the last year of his life, Steve merely existed— he didn't live. He spent too much time wallowing in the guilt he'd accustomed over his many years on Earth. And more than that, he spent too much mourning those he'd lost; his mother, his wife: Peggy, his best friend: Natasha, and the love of his life: Bucky.This is the final chapter in the Story of Steve Rogers's life.





	Wherever I Go, You Bring Me Home.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, then. Here we are; this is the final chapter.  
> Though I'm not going anywhere, I do plan on writing more stories in the future (hopefully), but this is the last of this series. I had so much fun writing this (that's awfully macabre, yikes) and I'm honestly a little sad it's over.  
> This last one was perhaps the most fun to write out of all three, since it was my favorite trope ("our favorite pair of dysfunctional idiots in 1940's Brooklyn") to write.  
> With that said, I hope you'll enjoy reading this last chapter, as much as I enjoyed writing it :) x

“ _A year ago, on the morning of December 12 th, 2019; the world was positively shocked to be made aware of War Hero Sergeant James B. Barnes’s passing. He was more famously known by his more malevolent moniker: the Winter Soldier._

_Sgt. Barnes was a character possessing many qualities; at first, he was Captain America, Steve Rogers’s loyal best friend. Then, he was a valiant solider, a Howling Commando, and the only one to lay down his life during the war. Later, he was reintroduced to the world as the terrifying Winter Soldier, by the Nazi Intelligence Agency: HYDRA. (For more on this highly interesting story, please visit the Smithsonian, and read first-hand accounts of Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, and James Barnes himself.)_

_But the thing we, here at the NY Herald, choose to remember Sgt. Barnes by, is his role in the intergalactic Battle of Wakanda, that was fought against the Titan who wiped away half of all life on Earth in 2017, Thanos. During the battle that ensued far away from prying eyes and civilians, deep in the Kingdom of Wakanda, Sgt. Barnes fought side-by-side with his best friend Steve Rogers (Captain America), and was unfortunately one of those who were decimated in 2017._

_On the crisp, cold morning of December 12 th, Steve Rogers, former Captain America, held a small press conference in the newly-reformed Avengers compound in New York, and announced the passing of his best friend, Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes, Veteran of World War II, a War Hero— just ten days prior (on the 2nd of December, in 2019). Not many details were disclosed about Sgt. Barnes’s demise, only that he passed away quietly and peacefully, in his sleep, while he was at his residence in the Kingdom of Wakanda. His friends requested privacy during the difficult time, stating that it was something Sgt. Barnes would have wanted, and the world was more than willing to respectfully comply._

_In, what is perhaps the most devastatingly shocking news of the year, this morning, the 5 th of December 2020; the new Captain America, Sam Wilson, held a press conference in the Avengers compound, NY—just like the former Captain America had done a year before—and grimly announced that our beloved Steven Grant Rogers, passed away in his sleep on the 2nd of December, in 2020. This devastating news comes almost a year after the news of Sgt. Barnes’ passing, and we are absolutely heartbroken._

_Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes grew up together in Brooklyn, in the early 1900s. They were inseparable from a very young age, and were together is basically everything. So it’s a very bittersweet ending to a very bittersweet story; Steve Rogers and James Barnes lived, breathed, existed together, so it is sadly befitting; that they both died on the same day, just a year apart._

_We are heartbroken, and some of us at the office are absolutely inconsolable, but we still have hope in our hearts. Steve Rogers taught us that— there’s always hope._

_So from everyone here at the New York Bulletin, we bid you farewell, Captain. We hope your journey into the next world is a good one, and we promise to forever cherish and live by all the lessons you taught us— of brevity, of loyalty, of sacrifice, and of being good._

_Thank you and goodbye, Steve Rogers, we will miss you._

_(Page, Karen._  
_“The Loss of Steven Rogers.”_  
_The New York Bulletin,_  
_5 th of December, 2020.)_

* * *

 

 _This is all wrong. This is all so very wrong._  Steve finds himself thinking, as he stands frozen in the middle of a very busy pavement. But that seems to not be an issue, at all— because no one seems to realize, or care that he’s blocking their paths, and he’s not even moving. Instead, everyone’s just moving past him, as if he’s not even there. And is it good or bad, that no one seems to be recognizing him either?

Oh, and Steve can be so stupid sometimes, because what does it matter if no one’s recognizing him, or yelling at him for being a stick in the mud? Because  _everything_  around him is just so awfully wrong.

He’s in Brooklyn, for one. And it’s not even ultra-hip Brooklyn that he remembers visiting just a year or two ago— no, it’s Brooklyn how he remember and loves it; it’s his 1930’s Brooklyn. The women around the street, and the pavement he’s standing on, they’re all wearing outfits in deep tons, and almost all of them are sporting what are so clearly hourglass silhouettes, and shoulder-pads in their outfits that pull everything together neatly. The men are dressed in suits and day outfits— suspenders and high-waisted pants, and these are just too familiar for Steve— he feels like he’s going to throw up. And he’s standing there, clueless as a brick wall, dressed in a grey t-shirt, and dark blue pajama pants— that’s his night suit, he’s standing in the middle of a crowded street in his night wear. Steve faintly thinks it’s his eighth-grade nightmare playing out.

But the street he’s on— he knows it too well. They’d have to wipe his memory clean for him to forget this place. Those familiar, wide streets; smoke rising upwards from the exhaust pipes of cars; the pavements are wide enough, that Steve’s frozen state isn’t bothersome to the other pedestrians; vendors are yelling loudly about this thing or that; tiny puddles of water are present on the sides of the road; and all those little things that made Brooklyn what it was— all the things Steve loves, and missed about Brooklyn, are all there. And yes, Steve is definitely going to hurl.

He’s dumbfounded as he stands in the middle of it all— Brooklyn under his feet, and all around him— and oh Lord, are those chocolate éclairs that he smells? They smell just like the ones from Morley’s Bakery used to smell like— and Steve remembers just how much he loved those damn éclairs— when he and Bucky could afford them, that bakery, and the kind old Mr. Devon Morley. There were days when Bucky’s boss—the cranky, and mean old Raymond Booker—forgot to pack his Italian cigars closely, and Bucky—always a master at sleight of hands—managed to swipe one of those ghastly beasts. They were a hazard to everyone’s health, but trading them for a few of those delicious éclairs was always worth the risk— Steve had never thought so, but Bucky had, and he whenever he could manage to get his hands on the cigars; he tried his level best— just so Steve could enjoy a chocolate éclair. Bucky was kind of like that, always doing risky things for Steve, never caring for the consequences they would bring. And honestly, if it hadn’t been for Bucky in the first place—

And suddenly Steve feels the earth underneath his bare feet—he’s bare foot, in his night wear, in the middle of a crowded street: yes, this is definitely a nightmare—give a dangerous lurch, and he sways forward, his hands darting out in front of him to catch at the lamppost before he collapses on the ground— don’t get him wrong, he loves Brooklyn, but these very streets weren’t exactly known for their cleanliness.

But Steve can’t think straight— can’t think of anything besides:  _Bucky_ ; his Bucky. Bucky is dead. Bucky died a year ago. And oh God; is… is Steve a young man again? His eyes are now staring at his hands— his strong, young hands. He’d grown so used to seeing veins on display against think skin, and wrinkles gained over the years. But now his hands are like how they used to be— tight, clear skin, veins throbbing blue and green underneath the skin, strong muscles in his arms— and yes, he’s definitely young again.

He raises a hand to his face, and instead of coming into contact with smooth skin, his fingers get lost in the scruff of his beard. The beard he grew during the year he was on the run from the governments of…  _several_ countries. Natasha called it his “depression beard” — and oh, Natasha! Natasha’s dead too. Steve feels like the world is suddenly spiraling and he wonders vaguely what would happen, if he fell down or jumped in front of a car. Would he be killed, or would he finally wake from this strange dream— or, nightmare.

Next to the lamppost Steve is leaning on, is a newspaper stand. Steve catches a glance at the newspaper on display— the headline reads, ‘ _C.I.O. Accepts A.F. of L. Peace Bid’_ , and Steve is even more confused than ever. Because he remembers reading this headline, he remembers reading it from the easy chair that belonged to Sarah Rogers, while Bucky stood in front of the stove, making oatmeal for breakfast…  _in their apartment_. Suddenly, as if urged by a rush of some dangerous emotion, Steve snatches the newspaper up off the stall—the vendor only gives him a nasty side-eye before going back to his business of staring about the street— and quickly looks at the date. It’s Friday, the 15th of October… in  _1937_. He remembers this day very clearly; it was the day the  _De Nobill Cigar Company_  closed down, and Rebecca Barnes’s best friend’s older brother lost his job. Steve only remembers because then Bucky—being the annoyingly good guy that he always was—tried his damnedest to get the young man—Leonard Robins, was his name, Steve thinks—his job back.

And suddenly, Steve’s throwing the paper away from him and darting out into the road— there’s several cars there, but when has Steve Rogers ever cared for menial things such as road accidents? Uncaring for the cars angrily honking at him, Steve runs at the speed of lightning, in the direction of  _home_. His and Bucky’s apartment—the one Steve grew up in, and lived in with his Ma, before she passed away in 1936—was just up the street on the 9th Street,  _Sauveur Avenue._ And Steve doesn’t know anything for sure, but he knows he has to get home. He has to get home  _right now_ , and he doesn’t care if it’s a nightmare.

Ten minutes later, he’s climbing up the grimy old carpet lining the stairwell of his apartment building, uncaring that his feet must be filthy by now. If Bucky’s on the other side of that flimsy door, Steve doesn’t care— he’d walk across a bed of smoldering coals and not give it a second thought.

Steve doesn’t know why, but he has thing horrible feeling that Bucky’s waiting for him behind the door of Apartment 6C. And finally, Steve’s reached the end of the hallway, and he’s facing the too-familiar door. His hands are shaking violently as he reaches towards the doorknob and slowly turns it. And what do you know? It’s unlocked— because when was had it ever been locked during the day?

The door creaks open—some things never change—and Steve pushes it even wider, tilts his shoulders as he enters, and looks around. And it’s all just the same as it always was. There’s a strong beam of sunlight filtering in through the large, dirty window on the left side wall of the small home; and the fire escape is visible just beyond it— the small pot of Bucky’s beloved Chinese Money plant is still there, and it looks freshly watered. Sarah Rogers’ beloved Persian rug—the only thing that was of value, once upon a time—that is now worn in places and basically threadbare, is still situated in front of the small brown sofa set, and tucked carefully underneath the even smaller table. The kitchen on the right side of the house—directly opposite the small living room, in clear view of the fire escape—is the same; the counters are bare, and the stove is small and stained— and Steve just  _knows_  that if he was to start a fire there, he’ll have to shake the burners to get it going.

It’s all the same. And nothing has changed. It’s just like Steve left it before he went off to become  _Captain America_. And Bucky’s not here.

The doors to both bedrooms across the living room from him are shut, and he doesn’t have the heart to go in the one on the left— his Ma’s old bedroom. Instead, he quietly shuts the front door behind him and takes careful, deliberate steps in the direction of the bedroom on the right: his and Bucky’s old bedroom— just like everything in life, they shared a bedroom too, because just like right now, Steve didn’t have the heart to go inside his Ma’s bedroom, even all those decades ago, and Bucky hadn’t found it in himself to take up Sarah’s bedroom, either; so they’d turned her former bedroom into a storage unit of sorts— not that they’d had much to store in there, anyway.

Steve reaches a hand towards the handle, just knows that it’s unlocked, turns it, and the door opens flawlessly— although, it still softly creaks in the way it used to. But Steve doesn’t care much for that, he heads straight towards the bed, and pauses in his steps a little bit. He doesn’t remember if the bed actually had army green sheets—like they did now—the day he’d left, or were they any other color. But does it even matter? Steve doesn’t seem to think so, as he unceremoniously drops himself on the foot of the bed, and puts his head into his hands.

 _What the hell is going on_? He mentally asks himself, and quickly does a recount of what he remembers. He recalls sitting at dinner with the relatively new couple of Sam and Sharon— they’d started dating in the summer; and Steve was happy for them. Though he still felt exceptionally awkward around Sharon, but it wasn’t her fault— it was Steve and he was clearly, extremely fucked in the head. He even remembers what they had for dinner; spaghetti and meatballs, Sharon had made them, and they were exceptionally good. He remembers retiring to his bedroom with a tumbler of whisky, after having stubbornly helped Sam clear up the dishes. He remembers falling asleep after finishing his whisky, and spending a good, long while staring at the photos of Bucky that he had. He remembers nothing after that.

Abruptly, a thought crosses his mind:  _did he die in his sleep_? It makes sense. He was old, more than a hundred years, and he’d lived a long life. If he’s dead, then it’s been a long time coming. And if he’s dead, does it make this place heaven? Steve stands up from the bed then, and walks the short two steps towards the small window on his left, overlooking the city, and pushes it open. He can see Brooklyn as he remembers it. It’s so beautiful— he’s missed it so much.

The sound of the door behind him opening brings him out of his musings, and he turns slowly. He doesn’t know what he expected. But he can tell you what he  _didn’t_  expect; James Buchanan Barnes, standing in the doorway of the bedroom, in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, his body glistening with water, his wet hair dripping on his neck. But that’s exactly what he gets.

Bucky’s standing there, naked for all he’s worth, staring at Steve with wide eyes and an open mouth. And Steve just knows he’s no better. Bucky can’t stop staring at Steve, and Steve doesn’t want to look away either.

Then Bucky’s mouth moves and Steve struggles with his brain to concentrate on hearing his words, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

At that, Steve lets out a sound that’s a heinous mixture between a sob, and a laugh, and then he’s taking steps towards Bucky, but his legs don’t seem to agree. He shakes, the world shifts, and he falls to the floor, his knees coming into harsh contact with the wooden floors but never aching. And before Steve can face-plant on the floor, Bucky’s arms are around him and he’s holding Steve, pulling him back up to his feet.

“Easy there, old man.” Bucky tells him. And Steve cries out loudly this time, throwing his arms around Bucky and crushing his body to his own. He lets the tears fall, and he doesn’t stop the sobs escaping his throat.

“Oh God, Buck. Oh my God…” Steve says between hiccupping sobs, his hands tightening around Bucky’s shoulders, fingers digging into warm flesh.

Bucky’s hands are rubbing up and down Steve’s back, and the other one is cradling Steve’s head, gentle fingers rubbing between the long strands, and only then Steve notices that Bucky doesn’t have a metal arm. He’s got both arms, and they’re both flesh. Steve doesn’t care about that either— Bucky could have both arms, or four arms, or  _no_  arms, and Steve still wouldn’t care as long as he could have Bucky by his side.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” Bucky’s murmuring in his ear, and Steve can feel the droplets of water on Bucky’s skin cooling beneath his fingers, and he clutches his best friend to himself even tighter.

“Buck…” Steve whispers, his tears wetting Bucky’s shoulder even more, and his fingers probably leaving nasty bruises on Bucky’s body. “You were— I thought—”

And Bucky’s arms tighten even more around Steve, his hand leaving his hair and arms locking around Steve’s waist. As if he’s refusing to let go, and that’s good, because Steve would personally punch him in the face if Bucky was to let go. He can’t, not ever again. “I know, Steve, I know.”

It takes Steve a long time to calm down, he isn’t sure how long, but they stand in the center of their old bedroom, hugging each other close to themselves, and it could be hours later, or minutes later, when Steve finally calms down enough to pull away from Bucky— just enough to see the beautiful face he missed so much.

They stand there for a few more minutes, just staring at one another, basking in the presence, and memorizing every single detail of each other’s faces. Then Bucky smiles widely, his left hand reaches up and traces along Steve’s face. “You grew a beard again.”

Steve laughs at that, but it’s heartbroken and full of emotion. “Yeah, and you have both arms.”

Bucky looks down at his arm, as if looking to confirm Steve’s words, and smiles forlornly, “Yeah, yeah I do, Steve.” And he looks sad, and Bucky Barnes should never look sad.

Steve reaches a hand up to Bucky’s face, caresses his cheek, and runs it through his wet hair. His eyes fill up with tears again, and blinking only lets them escape. “God, Buck, I missed you.”

Bucky smiles softly at this and nods, “I missed you too, punk.”

Steve laughs again, and then leans in, without a second thought and kisses Bucky. It’s soft; just Steve’s lips resting on top of Bucky, but they are firm, so Bucky doesn’t get the wrong idea. He pulls away when Bucky doesn’t kiss him back, and finds the other man’s expression filled with disbelief and surprise. Steve visibly blanches, “Shit, Buck, I’m sorry, I— should I not have done that?”

Bucky’s silent, his mouth is slightly open and his eyes are wide. They stare at one another for a solid minute, then Bucky manages to whisper, “Steve…” and his fingers and suddenly in Steve’s hair, pulling him closer, and his lips are sliding home on top of Steve’s.

And this one’s soft too; for all his aggressiveness, Bucky’s lips are gentle as they fit on top of Steve’s, and his tongue’s shy as he licks Steve’s mouth open. And if Steve wasn’t already dead, he’d die again— he’s way too happy, and no one should be this happy, it  _can’t_  be good for the heart. But Bucky’s tongue is inside his mouth, and his hands are gripping Steve’s hair and the back of his neck, and it’s like Bucky’s kissing Steve’s thoughts away. And it’s working. Steve’s hands have developed a mind of their own, it seems, and they’re everywhere on Bucky’s body; his shoulders, his face, his arms, his hair, his back, even resting above his ass for a minute too long. The kiss is so searing, open-mouth, almost sexual, and Steve is all but melting in Bucky’s arms. They pull away soon, an instinct that tells them they need to breathe— and Steve’s mad at it, because, ‘ _Hello? We’re dead. We don’t need to breathe_.’

But pulling away is a _fantastic_ idea, it appears, as Steve looks at Bucky’s face and is knocked breathless. Bucky looks…  _glorious_. His pupils are dilated, and his cheeks are flushed, there’s a bright red creeping up his throat, and his mouth— oh God, that mouth of his. Kiss-swollen, and wet, and Steve wants to kiss him again. So he does it, because he’s allowed to now. He can kiss Bucky all he wants, whenever he wants— and well, damn him, if he doesn’t make full use of the privilege.

It’s tens of minutes later, when they’re both finally done with kissing each other into oblivion, enough kisses inside of them to last a lifetime— but still not enough. They’re making up for  _decades_  of lost time, Steve argues with himself. Now they’re sat on the floor beside the bed, their backs resting against the footboard. And Bucky’s got his head on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve’s busy fiddling with Bucky’s hand in his lap. They’ve got so much to say, so much to discuss, but neither of them wants to. They’re happy where they are— they’re both dead, but neither has ever felt as alive as they did with their mouths slotted together.

“Steve…” Bucky begins, slowly. His head slowly lifting off Steve’s shoulder and he tucks his damp hair behind his ears with his right hand.

Steve’s grip tightens on Bucky’s hand and he shakes his head, “Please don’t.”

Bucky frowns, “What do you mean?”

“You’re gonna talk about how we’re dead, and all that crap we need to talk about— or worse, you’re gonna say this is  _wrong_.” Steve rushes out, turns his face to Bucky, and the look on his face almost sends Bucky tumbling down in shock. It is pure, raw, desperate need. “This isn’t wrong, Buck, listen to me. We’re both dead, and even if we weren’t, this still wouldn’t be wrong. It’s not wrong. It’s the most right I’ve ever felt in my life. Buck, please don’t—“

Bucky cuts him off, by gently bringing their mouths together. His left hand tightens around Steve’s fingers, and his right reaches forward to rest against Steve’s cheek. When he pulls back after a few moments, he’s smiling. “I was just going to say I’m naked and should probably wear pants.”

Steve laughs loudly, resting his forehead against Bucky’s, and nods. “You can wear your pants…  _after_.”

“After what?”

“After I get to see what’s underneath the towel.”

And now it’s Bucky’s turn to laugh like a madman. He leans away, and tips his head back, still laughing. When he sobers up, he shakes his head, and presses a chaste kiss to Steve’s mouth again, pulls back and whispers, “I love you.”

And Steve’s biting down on his own lip— because  _he_   _cannot cry again_. He’s cried enough that day, and he can’t do it again. “I love you too, Buck. Always have, always will.”

“Did I really have to off myself to hear this from you?” Bucky asks, feigning anger. His mouth is still stretched into a wide grin and tears are gathering in his eyes very quick.

“I wish you’d told me you loved me before everything. I never would have gone, Buck, I’d have stayed. I’d have loved you the way I always wanted to. I never would have—“

“Stop. Steve, please.” Bucky shakes his head, and lifts the corner of his mouth in a sad smile. “We’re both dead, Steve. There’s no point in thinking about what could have been, and all the what ifs. It’s pointless— no, it’s  _worthless_. There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

Steve nods in agreement. “I still wish we had gotten a chance, you know?”

“We have a chance now, Stevie.” Bucky murmurs softly, mouthing at Steve’s neck now. “We’ve got an eternity ahead of us. We have time. We can do this right.” And Steve nods again, because who is he to disagree with Bucky?

It’s a while later, when Bucky’s finally half-dressed again— Steve unbuttoned his shirt in favor of kissing down his neck and chest, and they’re lying in the bed—which should have been too small for two fully-grown supersoldiers, but appears to fit them both just fine—that Bucky begins speaking in a thoughtful tone, “I have something to tell you.”

Steve’s response is a soft hum that’s lost somewhere between his mouth tonguing languidly at Bucky’s left pectoral muscle, where he’d just bitten down, a short while ago. Bucky laughs and squirms under Steve, “No, listen to me. You can go back to this later.”

Steve raises his head, admires his creation—an angry, red love bite—right above Bucky’s nipple, where Steve assumes his heart is. “Yeah, yeah, I’m listening. But first, tell me, does it hurt?”

Bucky shrugs, “Nah. I’ve had worse.” And for a minute, Steve looks at him in utter devastation, so Bucky laughs. “Steven Grant Rogers, I’d gladly take you biting my entire body for the rest of my life, and it still would not hurt me. Now, stop looking like I kicked your puppy and get down here.”

Bucky pulls him down by the back of his neck— he’d grab a fistful of shirt if Steve was wearing one; apparently, Steve has some kind of war with shirts, as he took off both his and Bucky’s shirts earlier and threw them across the room somewhere. Steve comes willingly, and kisses Bucky filthily again. Then his lips trails sideways, down his jaw—which is also supporting a red love bite—and the side of his neck.

While Steve is working on forming another mark on Bucky’s neck, he speaks. “You know how we read in that philosophy book that certain people share heavens? Like soulmates and close friends and family?” Steve nods into Bucky’s neck, and his hair tickles Bucky’s ear. “Well, I found out the other day that I’m not the only one in this heaven.”

Steve sits back up, “Yeah, ‘cause I’m here.”

“No, _before_ you were here. There are some other people here too.” Bucky tells him, and when Steve frowns in question, he reaches a hand up and carefully drags his short nails down Steve’s torso, and the blonde actually  _moans_  in the filthiest, most erotic way. “Natasha’s here.”

And Steve abruptly stops moaning, gazes down at Bucky with wide eyes. “ _No_.”

“ _Yes_.” Bucky insists, “Natasha’s here, and so is Stark.” Steve thinks he’s going to throw up, or cry, or both. But then Bucky’s quickly sitting up, and Steve’s falling backwards into his lap, and Bucky’s strong arms are around him again, holding him close. “The two of them are here, Steve.”

“H-How? Where?” Steve asks in a quiet tone, and his eyes dart around the room as if he’s expecting Natasha and Tony to pop out from behind the dresser.

Bucky tightens his arms around Steve’s waist, and drop a kiss on his shoulder. “I don’t know how it works, Steve, but there’s a Stark tower in New York City— it’s the _new_ … New York, and the monstrosity they call the Stark Tower is there, and Natasha is there with Tony. They’re both here.”

"Oh, God, Bucky, I have to— I have to go— No,  _we_ have to go." Steve tells him, gripping Bucky's shoulders and looking around distractedly. "I have to say so many things. I have to apologize, I have to—"

Bucky leans in for a chaste kiss, his lips pressing gently on Steve's, before he pulls back a fraction and nods, "I know, Stevie, I know. We'll go right now, if that's what you want. We'll say we're sorry, I mean I already did it— spent six months letting that tiny man beat me, and we’re good, but if you want me to apologize with you, I will. Without a single moment’s hesitation, I’ll do whatever you want, Steve.”

This makes Steve stop his frantic squirm to get out of Bucky’s arms and stills on Bucky’s lap. It takes him a minute or two, and Bucky gives him his time, only watches him with adoring eyes. “You’d do that for me?”

“I’d walk through heaven _and_ hell for you, Steve, this is nothing.” Bucky tells him, and the sheer honesty of his words and the sincerity of his tone make Steve’s eyes well up with tears, for what feels like the hundredth time in the span of what feels like a few hours.

“Christ, Buck… I love you.” Steve leans in, grabs the back of Bucky’s neck, and meets his lips in a messy kiss— he just can’t get enough of Bucky’s mouth, and knowing that it’s okay to do that, is the single best thing Steve’s ever known. “I love you so fucking much, you have no idea.”

Bucky grins against Steve’s mouth, and when they finally pull away from the kiss, he’s still supporting a sly grin. “That’s five Hail Mary’s at least, Rogers.”

Steve’s mouthing against the side of Bucky’s neck, and mutters against soft skin. “Why five?”

“You’re in the lap of a man, who you’re also kissing— that’s got to give Sister Agatha a heart attack, and you owe her a few Hail Mary’s.”

Steve pulls back to laugh, and then laughs some more, because hell, the expression on Bucky’s face is _actually_ serious. They keep up their banter as they get up off the bed and locate their shirts, and they leave their home hand-in-hand. They’re headed towards New York City, they’re headed towards their friends— friends who Steve has missed over the years. Steve Rogers is dead, but he’s okay now— he’s better than he’s ever been because he has the love of his life by his side, and the Brooklyn he loved so much, around him.

As the two of them disappear amidst the crowd on the street, Steve finds himself thinking that he’ll be okay from now on. That everything will be okay. He’ll get to see his friends in a short while, and he’ll have to wait a lot longer to see the rest of them. But he can wait, he’s got time. He’s got Bucky by his side, and all the time in the world.

Steve Rogers is finally home.

* * *

 

_“It has been ten very long years since the world lost it’s very first Superhero, it’s very first Supersoldier, and God’s Righteous Man; Steve Rogers, formerly known as Captain America. It was on a quiet December evening in New York City that Steve Rogers passed away in his sleep. Many things over the years have changed; there are new Avengers, the new Captain America—Sam Wilson—has just completed his tenth year as Cap, and several other things have changed. But the world’s love for Steve Rogers has not._

_People across the globe still love, adore, and respect Steve Rogers as much as they did when he was alive— perhaps even more. And they are right in doing so. Steve Rogers was not only the very first Captain America, he was also a man who never backed down from a fight. He was a brave hero, who stood in the face of evil and stared it down. Steve Rogers was and always will be a hero, even before he became Captain America. There’s loads of video footage that are proof of Steve Rogers’s relentlessness and fearlessness since even before he was injected with a Supersoldier Serum._

_The world has lost many things in its thousands of years— Steve Rogers is definitely one of its greatest losses._

_This morning, at eleven o’clock, Miss Morgan Stark, a young woman of sixteen, unveiled her latest creation: two hologram figures of Steve Rogers and James Barnes, as they were. They are both six and a half feet tall, and move about as if they were the real men— but they are not, the world has lost both of them. Miss Stark gifted the figures to the Smithsonian, in an event held to remember the ten-year anniversary of Steve Rogers’s death._

_Thor Odinson, God of Thunder, and one of the Founding Avengers, made a rare and surprising appearance at the event, and was tearful with his friends, as he remembered two Fallen Heroes._

_Among other notable attendees for the event, were former Avengers; Clint Barton and Dr. Bruce Banner— both of whom stood off to the side, and avoided the press and other guests. The King of Wakanda, T’Challa, was also present with his wife, Queen Nakia, and younger sister, Princess Shuri— all of whom were close to both Steve Rogers and James Barnes._

_Wanda Maximoff, known more famously by her Superhero/Avenger moniker— the Scarlet Witch, was also in attendance. She was in tears throughout the whole event, and was often seen being comforted by Mr. Peter Parker, COO of Stark Industries, and former Spider-Man._

_Miss Pepper Potts, wife of the later Mr. Anthony Stark, and mother of Morgan, stood behind her daughter; beaming with pride, yet somehow pulled down by the weight of the morning— undoubtedly she was also thinking of her later husband, the heroic Iron Man, as Miss Stark unveiled what was perhaps the greatest gift to the Smithsonian in it’s entire history._

_Other notable attendees included: Miss Carol Danvers, Mister James Rhodes, Miss Maria Hill, Mister Scott Lang and his wife Miss Hope Van Dyne, Dr. Stephen Strange and his wife Dr. Christine Palmer, Mister Matthew Murdock, Miss Karen Page, Mister Franklin Nelson, Mister Harold Hogan accompanied by wife, Mrs. May Hogan, and lastly, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, Sam and Sharon, who attended with their three children: Buchanan Grant, Riley, and Natalia-Elizabeth._

_After the event, Captain America, Sam Wilson hung back to have a chat with the reporters, and amidst it all, confirmed the very popular rumor that he in fact does light a candle every year in the memory of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, on their death day, because, “Steve hated candles, could never get the wax out of his clothes. So what better way to honor him, than to piss off his spirit?” Not sure we agree with you there, Cap, but for now, it’ll do._

_As for how we, at the Herald, felt, being in attendance at the event, well we just have this to say: “Thank you, Steve Rogers, for everything you have ever done for us, the world, and America. We thank you from the bottom of our hearts, for teaching us lessons no history book will have ever taught us. We thank you for showing us what patriotism, and true bravery looked like. We thank you for everything, Mr. Rogers, and we miss you. We will always miss you. You were always too good for this world, and we sincerely hope and pray you are in a better place now. You will always be Captain America to us. And we will always honor you.”_

_(Sanders, Evangeline._  
_“Ten Years without Steve Rogers.”_  
_The New York Bulletin,_  
_2 nd of December, 2030)_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ah! The bittersweet feeling of finishing a story that you experience as both a reader and a writer. I'm so glad this is finally done, you guys have no idea. Believe me, I had so much fun delving into the world of Steven Rogers and James Barnes, and I lowkey don't ever want to come back out.  
> Basically, this is me telling you guys, and putting it out into the universe that I will never stop writing SteveBucky fanfics. Watch me be like fifty-five years old, and still writing angst and fluff and neglecting my family for it :)))  
> Oh, and before I forget, the only reason why Bucky had both his arms in this one is because his metal arm his usually only associated with pain (HYDRA, Wakanda, War, etc.), and I didn't want there to be any pain for Steve and Bucky in their heaven. I have nothing against Bucky's arm (it's kind of hot actually, because have you seen Sebastian Stan's muscles? H-O-L-Y), I just didn't pain to be associated with Steve and Bucky... any longer.  
> With that said, thank you so much for reading this and giving me a chance, and I truly hope you enjoyed these :)  
> Until next time... x


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